The Lonesome Darkness
by Ana-DaughterofHades
Summary: The once comfortable water now pricks his skin as it becomes ice, coating his whole body. He's spent too long thinking about the sun, but even that's not enough to melt his frozen mask. Solangelo. Oneshot.
**Disclaimer: I do not own PJO.**

 **AN: This was a spontaneous idea but I'm glad to be back writing for this universe again. It's been too long. ***There are NO toa spoilers in this*****

 **This is a quick one shot that I wrote in between studying for APUSH. The exam's tommorrow; Athena, please help me!**

 **Hope you all enjoy:D**

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 ** _i._**

The water runs over his body in a trickle of tiny streams. His dark hair plasters itself to his face as it becomes soaked with water; black locks of hair tickle his cheeks, curling on his face and neck. The droplets of water create intricate patterns as they delicately land on his arms and the back of his hands. The pressure from the shower rhythmically beats down upon his head, except for that one drop that is off beat and broken.

A flash of light collects in his mind accompanied with a bright, loveable smile. He drowns out the image as he tilts his head back, the water pattering his face and running off his chin. But the image successfully stays afloat as Nico's teeth chatter against the cold.

The once comfortable water now pricks his skin as it becomes ice, coating his whole body. He's spent too long thinking about the sun, but even that's not enough to melt his frozen mask.

 ** _ii._**

His fingers roll around a grape on his plate. It's smaller and lighter than it's siblings. The small spherical shape fits perfectly on the pad of his thumb, and the bruised color is a stark contrast against his deathly pale skin tone.

Even though it's captured his attention, he licks his chapped lips as the grape squishes between his teeth, juices settling in the pockets of his cheeks. The sugar sinking into his bloodstream as he swallows.

Other campers stand near the bronze brazier in the middle of the pavilion, whispering offerings to absentee godly parents and to ones they wish would leave them alone. The sea of bodies is colored in orange; he is no hurry to break it up and give an offering to a father who'd rather he had died and his sister had lived. Thick auroras, dripping the blackness and foulness of death, surrounds some of those staring into the flickering fire, scraping a portion of their food into the pit. But their colorful eyes of blues and greens and browns are lively; they are not aware of their impending fate. No one ever is. He glances away, queasiness rolling around in his stomach.

But as Nico turns his head, there he is. An angular face, blue eyes, sun kissed skin, curling blond hair. A smile splitting his features. A hand wrapping and rewrapping a bandage around his opposite hand as he dramatically articulates an anecdote to his many siblings. Apollo's benches are filled, and every ear is turned to hear Will's exciting tale of a heroic knight saving an unlucky demigod from a broken finger.

Before their eyes can meet, Nico returns his gaze to his own table. No one sits in front of him, not even ghosts. No one wants to hear his stories. Because no one cares.

Except possibly Will. And his skin prickles, because out of the corner of his dark eyes and through his shaggy hair he catches a vibrant blue stare.

 ** _iii._**

It's hot, and sweat drips down his bare chest as the stygian sword in his hand is a blur of darkness and the dummy is a pile of straw. Knuckles turn white as his grip tightens around the leather hilt. Strands of hair stick to his forehead in the late summer heat until he runs a frustrated hand through his inky hair. He's sore from training, from shadow traveling, from _not_ frowning all the time.

"I'm pretty sure I didn't prescribe extra strenuous activities," comes a cheeky voice. He doesn't have to turn around to know he will be met with startling, happy blue eyes, but he twists anyways- though, is that a hint of stress in Will's irises?

"That was a month ago," Nico comments, annoyed, "My three days in the infirmary were up many, many weeks ago."

He grabs for his water on the dusty arena floor to find it in front of his face, held by a lightly freckled hand. "You shouldn't let yourself get dehydrated," Will says, his inner healer shining through.

Their hands may touch when Nico reaches to grab the plastic bottle, their hands may linger, and their eyes may capture each others, never breaking the hold. But it could all be a mirage in this thick heat surrounding and suffocating them.

When Will's back is turned, presumably walking back to the infirmary, Nico tries not to smile. Tries not to keep the blond boy in mind. Nico may try a lot of things, but in the end they are all futile.

A lazy smile cracks through his exterior.

 ** _iv._**

Maybe it's because he senses that looming, sickly aura and maybe it's because he can detect Will's worry in the form of a wrinkled brow and uncharacteristic dark circles lining his dim eyes. And maybe that's way he's here, with his hands in the pockets of his dark jeans and hair rumpled from an unpleasant night's sleep.

There is a single lump in the rows of cots in the infirmary. As he walks closer, the lump becomes a young girl with round features and a bandaged cut racing across her cheek. Nico wonders if it will scar, but she is too young to have scars. Her short auburn hair is fanned out on top of the sunken pillow, surrounding her face devoid of any healthy coloring. Her brow is beaded with sweat, and even without pressing two fingers against her neck, he can tell she is only a step away from Charon's ferry.

"Poor thing got attacked by a monster before she crossed the border two nights ago. A satyr had found her early yesterday morning at the end of the hill." Will stands beside him, his hand gently fingering the wrinkled blanket in front of them.

Nico is only slightly perturbed that he wasn't informed of the new arrival. But his gaze quickly wanders back to the demigod. He wants to punch her godly parent in the face for no watching out for her. He cracks his knuckles, his fingers sliding over his rough callouses and outlining his skull ring.

"What can I do to help?" he asks. And soon he is holding her hand, rubbing a thumb over her scabbed knuckles. She looks ten so he tells her the good stories from when he was ten, when Bianca was alive.

Every so often Will tilts his head, listening to Nico's adventures with mythomagic. The mood lightens when they see the young demigod stir in her sleep, and the aura around her has slightly faded. Stretching his arms over his head, Nico wakes his legs to grab a drink. His voice is hoarse.

"Fuck," Nico mutters, sucking on his sliced thumb and glaring at the culprit, a curling piece of paper hovering protectively near the glass of water.

Will tisks. "Language, di Angelo. There is a child in the vicinity."

"She's unconscious," Nico argues with a slight frown.

"The word can still seep into her subconscious."

He huffs. "You're just full of shit." Will playfully narrows his eyes, wagging his finger as if truly disappointed in him. For the first time in Nico's life he has to fake a frown. For the first time since a few days ago, he has to hold back a smile. "Can it, Solace, and bandage me up," he grumbles, sticking his already healing thumb in his doctor's face.

His feels the electricity course through the closed circuit as Will cups his wounded hand. For the first time, he lets it pass through, but also stay, with him.

 ** _v._**

"What the hell are you doing here, Solace? It's against camp policy." Mirthful laughter and conversation wraps around him as his fingers tap to an unknown rhythm, and the sun sits down at his table.

Will's plate overflows with food, from glazed ribs to a colorful salad. "You really helped her; she's finally awake and responding to the ambrosia and nectar." His smile is heartfelt, but Nico's gaze dips down to the hairline fractures in the obsidian table.

He remains quiet staring at the pile of grapes in front of him as Will adds in a slice of Italian bread. _Ha ha._ "All I did was hold her hand and talk," he whispers as he tears at the soft bread. It's warm and immediately melts in his mouth.

"Sometimes, all you need is to know someone else cares about you. Cares about you enough to stay with them no matter what. I was just her doctor but you her friend."

He shrugs, slightly embarrassed and unused to the praise. "I guess so." He hopes to meet that little girl soon, when she is finally healed. But now Nico stares blindly at the sun with the cerulean eyes.

"Thank you, Nico."

He gulps down the last of the bread while brushing crumbs from his pants. "D-do you want to come over to watch a new movie the Stolls pirated?"

His smile is sunshine, burning bright and strong. "I would love to."

 ** _vi._**

The decor is still terrible, and if Nico is honest with himself, he is mortified as Will steps over the threshold. But Nico has come to accept the gaudy dancing skeleton curtains and the ghost wallpaper. His bedroom has slightly better taste- he did switch out the coffin bed -, with trinkets from another time in another century, with red blankets instead of black- like everything else in the cabin -but Nico's bedroom is behind a closed door. Those items he prefers to keep secret.

"You weren't kidding," Will says, and that's his only comment. Nico sees the grimace though. Maybe he should've gone to the store sooner.

"Not what I wanted, trust me." But Will is already looking past the decor and onto him.

They settle on the black two person couch. Will grabs a black blanket to wrap around his shoulders, and their knees accidentally brush, and their shoulders bump. Nico rubs the back of his head, wondering if his pale skin is betraying him with a crimson blush.

 ** _vii._**

The credits are rolling, the white font visible against the solid black background. The screen swallows up the names as quickly as they appear. He quietly chuckles as he points to one of the people in the credits who shares Will's name, and pokes him in the shoulder, raising an eyebrow.

"It clearly says William; I am a _Will_ ," the blond boy declares. Nico refrains from rolling his eyes. "And I will never be a chef. Would you like to try my specialty: burnt cookies?"

Though he doesn't dissolve into a fit of laughter, a smile breaks through, parting his lips to show white, though maybe not straight, teeth. And in the depths of the Hades' Cabin, Will's lips add pressure to that smile, as he wraps a lanky arm around Nico's thin frame. His hand grips the blond curls brushing his cheeks as he folds himself closer to Will. His lips are soft and smooth, and Nico's breath hitches with a spark of happiness.

At one point Nico may end up straddling Will's lap, and at another they may stay snuggling on the soft couch with swollen lips. Their hands stay clasped together in between their chests, and their shirts are wrinkled. Will's breath ruffles Nico's dark hair melting into the shadows around them. The finished movie casts a blue shadow upon the dips and curves of their features.

And slowly Will's light penetrates the lonesome darkness Nico has surrounded himself in.

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